


Deep Undercover

by starthief



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Belly worship, F/M, Feeding Kink, Las Vegas, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Roleplay, Size Kink, Weight Gain, chub kink, chubby!bucky, short bucky x other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9069574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starthief/pseuds/starthief
Summary: Bucky and Steve pretend to be in a relationship to go undercover.  iwritetheweirdstuff's Kinky Little Christmas Challenge





	1. Steve

Bucky had been shipped back from Wakanda a week ago, after five years of being in cryogenics. The Avengers had been more careful—more “on a leash”, as Tony liked to say, after the disastrous effects of Sokovia. Scarlet Witch, Spiderman, War Machine, Vision, Black Panther, Ant Man, and Falcon were inducted full-time members, and the two teams had come back together in a compromise of exactly what they could and could not do.

Steve was sitting in a chair outside Bucky’s room, fidgeting with his hair and nearly vibrating with excitement. He remembered all the events of Bucky’s memory returning like five years hadn’t passed, the strange _something_ that had almost passed between them. While Bucky was still frozen, he’d tried to push all of that to the back of his mind and just focus on being Captain America, and it had almost worked. The moment Bucky stepped off the Wakandan plane onto New York soil, however, five years of forgetting had dissolved away as Steve ran across the tarmac to embrace his friend of ninety-five years. As he hugged him, and Bucky began to hug back, Steve made himself a promise.

Just this. Just two friends after a long reunion. He could do it. Nothing more. Because he never wanted to ruin that friendship they had. And if it was unbearable, so what. He was almost certain that it was one-sided.

And since Bucky had agreed to be the Winter Solider as a member of the Avengers, today was his first day back on the field. Steve had been appointed his partner for all his missions for at least a year (by a smirking Natasha), and Steve had requested that his first job back would be a simple one to ease him back into hero-dom.

Finally, the door clicked open, and Bucky came out into the hall, already wearing his slightly-altered suit. Steve smiled, praying all of this wasn’t too much.

“So, how do you like life in the Avengers tower?” he asked nervously.

“It’s good. ‘Course, doesn’t beat Wakanda. They treat you like a king there,” Bucky replied, winking.

Steve didn’t stop the horrified expression from spreading across his face soon enough. Of course Bucky would prefer Wakanda more, when no one was jumping over him and babying him every moment, when he wasn’t expected to be a hero or save lives, or…

“Christ, I’m joking Stevie, calm down,” Bucky interrupted with a chuckle, clapping Steve’s shoulder. “It’s great to be back in New York.”

They took the elevator down to the briefing room, Falcon’s department that day.

“Hey, Sam,” Steve said in greeting once the door read his card’s clearance level.

“Morning, Steve,” Sam said, facing away from them, purposefully not acknowledging Bucky.

“Bucky’s back,” Steve blurted, unable to contain his glee.

Sam turned around, pursing his lips at Bucky. “I can see that.” Then he broke out into a smile. “Good to have you back, man.”

Bucky grinned. “Eh, you’re just sayin’ that ‘cause Steve would have your wings confiscated if you didn’t.”

Sam laughed. “He’s onto us!”

Steve smiled, glad things were back to… normal. He was glad to have Bucky back, more glad than anything, even if it wasn’t how he wanted. “So, what’ve you got for us?”

“Okay.” Sam tapped on the wall, and an overhead view of a resort appeared. “This is the Stark Hotel in California. It’s the off season now, so there are only a few patrons. One of them is Luchino Nefaria, a possible member of the Maggia organisation” The man’s face appeared, alongside a page of known information about Maggia. “There have been reports of a possible black-market child trafficking set up there. We need you two to go undercover and check it out, then report back before Christmas so we can break it up. Okay?” He handed them two files with their fake names printed across the top: Jack Evans for Bucky, and Philip Morgan for Steve.

“Sounds great.” Steve flipped open the file, and his eyebrows shot to his hairline when he read the general information.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You two are gonna have to be married for this. It’s a honeymoon resort.”

 

\--

Bucky nearly swallowed his tongue. Steve was standing right next to him, as cool as ever. If Steve wasn’t freaking out, then Bucky wouldn’t freak out. “No problem. When does our flight leave?”

“Five hours. You’ll have to take a commercial flight. Take your suits along with you, but hide them. From the moment you board that plane, you are Jack Evans and Philip Morgan.”

“Steve, come here,” Bucky called from the closet, staring at his array of jeans and Henley’s. “How the hell am I supposed to dress?”

Steve blushed when he came in, and Bucky realised he was just in his underwear, but so what? They’d changed in front of each other before, and they were supposed to be married now. “Well… these are nice, but if we’re going to a resort, I think you should wear these.” He gestured at Bucky’s small selection of khakis in the back.

“Ah, right. Resort, rich-people clothes.”

Steve laughed. “Well technically we are rich now, Buck.”

Bucky put on a pair of khakis he hadn’t bought himself. Once he moved into the Avengers tower, there was already an entire closet full of clothes. Most of them were ones similar to his own style, but Bucky had gone up a size or two since the clothes had been purchased for him. “Good, because I think we’re going to need to go shopping,” he remarked, trying to pull the tabs of his pants together.

 

Fifteen minutes later, they were standing in the khaki section of a department store. It was better that they both go anyhow, because Steve was also in need of some khakis. Bucky got a few pairs in the proper size with Steve’s help, and then they moved on to shirts. Bucky was just as helpless in that area, but Steve shyly suggested some polos. Bucky eyed the preppy shirts suspiciously, but then Steve held up a bright pink polo, in Bucky’s exact size.

“Try this on, Buck. It might look real nice on you.”

Bucky frowned. “Does it have to be _that_ shade of pink?” He took it from Steve’s hands and held it up in front of himself, scowling at the colour in the mirror. Then it dawned on him. “Oh, I get it, Stevie. Fitting the stereotype. Good thinking.”

Steve spluttered a little, but then agreed after a minute. And even Bucky had to agree, he did make even khakis and polos look good.

After they’d finished shopping, they went out for a lunch in the shop next door, wearing their new clothes and practising acting like a couple. They got back to the tower just in time to pack, then they took a taxi to the airport and waited to board the plane.

 

\--

First of all, either God or Sam or both had it in for Steve. He could do this. He could be friends with Bucky. But how the hell was he supposed to be just friends if they were going to be married the whole month up until Christmas?

Secondly, Steve hadn’t seen Bucky shirtless in about five years. He looked amazing, strong and muscular and in control of himself, but he also looked soft. They hadn’t spent much time together in the week he’d been back, but the time they had spent, he always seemed to be eating something. It wasn’t really a surprise that he’d had to go a whole size up in pants since the last time his size was recorded (and when the hell was that, anyway?), and then going out to lunch and watching him eat two whole Rueben sandwiches, chips, and a thick chocolate milkshake was driving Steve wild. In five whole years, Steve hadn’t dated anyone—too busy being Captain America for love—but he had been lonely, and long nights spent searching niche kinks on the internet told him that he had a very specific taste of dark-haired muscular guys with arms as thick as his waist, and a soft belly he could caress. It was easier when Bucky was ‘just’ gorgeous, but now he was _thick_ and gorgeous and not ‘just’ anything.

And thirdly, Jack Evans was really devoted to his character, and at the restaurant he’d ordered for himself, then turned to ‘Phil’ and asked him, “And what do you want, Sweetheart?” without a single note of irony. On the plane, Bucky got the window seat, and Steve fit their suitcases into the compartment overhead, and then sat down.

“Thanks for letting me get the window seat, St--, ah, Phil,” Bucky said, eyes lit up with wonder as they took off from the ground.

“Sure,” he replied. Bucky could fly a hundred times and still get excited every time, pressing his forehead to the glass and watching the clouds underneath, but for Steve, flying had gotten old years ago.

“You know, you’re pretty good at this relationship stuff,” Bucky said softly, turning the wedding band on his ring finger, with a date inscribed on the inside he hadn’t even been awake for.

“You’re not bad yourself,” Steve breathed as the pilot announced the procedure.

 

Five and a half hours later, the post-Thanksgiving snow of New York was replaced with the flowers and sunshine of the Oakland International Airport. A cab was already waiting there to take them to the resort. Steve took a deep breath, and held Bucky’s hand as they got into the car.

“You the couple that’s going to the resort?” the driver asked.

“That’s us,” Bucky replied happily, kissing Steve on the lips, and oh god it only lasted for four seconds, but it was wonderful. Steve wanted to put his arms around Bucky’s neck and lean in and breath that he’d been dreaming of this for longer than most people had been alive—

“Hey, anyone ever tell you ya kinda look like Captain America?”

Steve thought quickly. “Me, Captain America? Oh, you flatter me. What do you think, Pumpkin?” Apparently the brown hair dye and glasses hadn’t been enough to fool everyone.

“Hm, let me see. Turn your head this way,” Bucky instructed, humouring the driver. “Nope, don’t see it. Maybe Clark Kent though.”

Steve laughed, and playfully punched Bucky in the arm. “I suppose that makes you Lois Lane.”

The driver laughed. “Young love,” he commented, shaking his head. Bucky and Steve shared a secret smile, and went on to talk about how excited they were about the resort, because a friend of theirs, Natalie, had suggested it. Steve was almost worried he was overdoing it, but hoped that the driver would chalk it up to the excitement of newlyweds.

They turned down a long driveway, framed by rose bushes and glowing lamps in the dusk, and at the end of the drive was an immense resort, six stories high and four large buildings joined together by a central atrium. They checked in as Jack and Phil Evans, and were taken to their penthouse suite, facing the hills and orchard, and far off in the distance, the ocean. Steve tipped the attendant and shut the door behind him. “Okay, let’s get to work.” He needed something to distract himself, anything. He would _not_ think about the king sized bed they’d be sharing that night.

“There’s nothing we can do tonight. C’mon, let’s enjoy ourselves. It’s our honeymoon! This is a deep level infiltration, which means we have to be convincing.” Steve saw him dial up the number for room service. “So let’s be convincing. Hi, yeah, I’d like two Thanksgiving dinners in Suite #2. Yeah, thanks.” He set down the phone. “Someone slept through Thanksgiving, so I have to make up for it.”

Steve would _not_ think about exactly how much food Bucky was about to consume and how hot it would be.

Oh god, he was thinking about it.


	2. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve find out more about the other patrons of the resort.

A pretty, brunet-haired bellhop brought their dinner to the door. Her name tag read “Kristina”. She leant over the cart, displaying her pretty cleavage in her maid’s outfit. “Enjoy your dinner,” she purred, lifting the tray. Bucky didn’t know whether to eye the meal, or her breasts. Half of him was telling himself that he couldn’t blow this (or be blown by this), he had to be convincing and play Steve’s perfect husband; the other half (his dick) was saying to give her a very generous tip and ask her to meet him in the courtyard later.

Steve came in from the other room, and for a moment, Bucky felt guilty, caught in something he shouldn’t be. “Food, great!” he exclaimed, pulling a fifty out of his pocket and tipping Kristina himself. “Thanks.” He gave her a smile, but she just turned and left.

Bucky didn’t have time to consider before Steve wheeled the cart over the table and started laying food out. He was starved. His doctors had eased him out of cryogenics and back into real food slowly, and he was anxious to make up for lost time.

Halfway into his meal, he noticed that Steve was staring, and hadn’t touched any of his food. “Not hungry, Phil?”

It took Steve a moment to snap his eyes away from whatever he’d been staring at (Bucky’s plate, maybe?) and realise Bucky was talking to him. “Oh, yeah.” He began to eat unenthusiastically, but soon his gaze returned. Bucky decided not to say anything more.

The food was excellent. The turkey was tender, and the kitchen had supplied two large drumsticks for each plate, Bucky’s favourite part. The cranberry sauce was homemade, tart and refreshing. The stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, and carrots, were all the best he’d had in his life. It almost reminded him of the scrappy Thanksgiving meals his Ma used to make, but she’d cry tears of joy if she’d ever had anything this good. Without asking, Steve moved his uneaten drumstick over to Bucky’s plate, and he happily finished that too.

Bucky was too full afterward, even for dessert, so Steve put the two enormous chocolate cheesecake slices in the mini-fridge for later. “Want to watch TV?” Bucky asked, sitting on the bed, and allowing his stomach to settle.

“Sure, whatever you like, Bu—ah, Jack,” Steve replied after a moment. He was still distracted, probably over work or something. That guy never allowed himself a moment of pleasure.

After one episode of I Love Lucy, Steve announced he was going to take a shower and left. Bucky continued watching a moment more, then there was a knock on the door to the room. He opened it, but no one stood outside except a small envelope on the floor, written to _Jack Evans._ Bucky looked round the hall, but it was empty. He opened it up and took out the note inside, written in clean script.

_Hey Jack. Being married can be tough. Meet me by the fountain if you want to vent._

_Kristina._

The thing Bucky admired most about the twenty-first century was that the girls could make the calls just as much as the boys could. Bucky liked that sometimes. He hadn’t known many girls since before the war, but the few he’d encountered had been domineering, and although it took some getting used to, Bucky found that he didn’t mind being dominated once in a while.

What could it hurt? It wasn’t like they were _really_ married.

Bucky left a note for Steve on the bed.

_Phil-_

_Going for a walk. Be back late. Don’t wait up._

Bucky casually ambled out of their room and down the hall, pressing the button for the elevator and taking his time. He made sure that no one saw him leave the resort. The bright, stuffy light of the building faded away behind him, and the cool air greeted him. The Winter Soldier inside of him was back in his element once more.

A shadow behind the fountain moved, and Kristina’s grey eyes glinted at him, reflecting the light of all the rooms. “Glad you could make it,” she said, sitting on the fountain and patting the stone beside her. Bucky detected a hint of an Italian accent in her voice.

“To… vent?” Bucky clarified.

Kristina rolled her eyes. “Come on.” She led him away from the resort, and to a greenhouse. Inside, the smell of some exotic flower hung in the air. Bucky followed Kristina to the back, where there were some padded bench seats. She pushed him down on one, then knelt and unzipped his pants. It was his first blow job in an embarrassingly long time, and he wasn’t going to let anything spoil it.

 

A half hour later, Kristina buttoned up her blouse. “I’m afraid I have to say good night now. I have to report back to the office in fifteen minutes. Let me know if you need to vent again, _Jack_.” And then she was gone.

Bucky found his way back to the room, where the lights were already out and Steve was asleep. He was considering sleeping on the couch, but then decided just to join Steve in the bed.

Sometime in the night, Steve rolled over and began spooning Bucky. He let it happen.

 

The next morning, Steve was gone. There was another note on the nightstand.

_Went downstairs to the outdoor bar for breakfast. Join me when you wake up._

_Philip_

Bucky wondered if he knew, then told himself it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the plan. And last night was a small diversion. It wouldn’t last long.

 

Bucky found Steve at a small table near the cliff wall, overlooking the ocean. He’d already finished his breakfast, but he was sipping coffee, and there was a cappuccino waiting for Bucky. He sat down, and Steve greeted him with a warm smile.

“Good morning! How’d you sleep?”

“Okay.”

Steve smiled at a passing waiter, then leant forward and spoke in a more serious tone, pushing a manila folder across the table. “Okay, so here’s what I’ve got so far. I’ve been observing the staff all morning, and there are some that are always busy, but they don’t seem to be doing any visible chores.  I’ve also seen a few people that don’t seem to be either clientele or staff. They all seem to be headed in the same direction, toward the courtyard. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing that way.”

“A greenhouse,” Bucky provided, suddenly glad of his own observations last night. “There’s a greenhouse beyond the gardens. I went inside, but there was something that seemed off about it.” It suddenly struck him. There hadn’t been a single gardening tool in there, or any places one would keep them. It could be the resort’s efficiency, not wanting their patrons to see a single clipper out of place, but the smell of the greenhouse had been too strong and uniform to account for the variety of flowers. “I think it’s fake.”

Steve nodded. “Good, that’s great. There might be something underneath. I’ll check it out later. If it’s possible, I want you to make conversation with that guy.” He pointed to a man in a yellow shirt drinking a piña colada at the bar. They clinked their coffees together, and then Bucky walked over to the bar and sat down two seats away from the man.

Bucky ordered an Irish coffee, and watched the man finish his piña colada and order another. “Fun honeymoon?” he asked lightly.

The man snorted. “Oh yeah. I should have known my husband was married to his job, and couldn’t give that up for me. I should have known this wouldn’t change anything.” He glowered ruefully at a simple gold wedding band.

Bucky glanced behind him, at Steve ‘casually’ making his way to the gardens. “I know how you feel. I want to do fun stuff with my husband, but he’s always distracted. Even on our honeymoon.”

The man stuck out his hand. “Dominic.”

Bucky shook his hand as he scooted closer on the next barstool. “Jack.”

“Do you regret marrying him?”

Bucky watched Steve trip over a rosebush whilst trying not to be seen. “Nah, he has a good heart. He just takes things too seriously.”

“Yeah, really. My Silvio hasn’t spent time with me just to spend time in months. We used to be business partners. Then we started dating, and he was so surprisingly romantic and passionate. It didn’t last, though. I guess we thought marriage would bring some of the romance back. It just gave him an excuse to be gone longer, knowing I would always be there for him to come home to.”

“Say, what business do you work for?” Bucky asked casually.

“Oh, you know. Some boring family corporation. What do you do?”

Bucky tried to remember his briefing in Jack Evans, but no profession came to mind. “Uh, I work in the Human Crisis Centre of the Las Vegas Police Department.” Close. But Dominic’s ‘close’ answer was all the evidence Bucky needed to know that if he wasn’t a definite leader of Maggia, they were close. “Well, Dominic, it was lovely meeting you. I’d better go check in on Phil. Enjoy your stay.”

Dominic shook his hand once more. “Yeah, see you around.”

Bucky returned to the room. Steve got back a half hour later. “What’d you find?”

“Nothing,” Steve replied, sighing. “The flowers are real, but it does seem to be a fake greenhouse. I couldn’t find an entrance to any kind of secret room, though. How about you?”

“His name is Dominic, and he’s married to someone named… Silver? Silva? He said that he worked for a ‘boring family corporation’, but I could tell that was only a partial truth. I think he was too drunk to give me a fake name.”

Steve nodded. “Great, we’re making great progress.”

“So… do you maybe want to go down to the pool? I hear it’s salt water. We might be able to… observe something there.” Half of this operation needed to be them following Maggia’s trail, but the other half needed to be them making sure they seemed inconspicuous.

“Um, sure.” Steve dug through his suitcase and found a pair of swimming trunks, which made Bucky remember he’d forgotten his own.

“Oh, hey, Phil, can you lend me a pair? I forgot mine.”

“Sure,” Steve repeated, and tossed Bucky a spare set, black trunks with white sailboats on them.

Bucky pulled them on, and where they hugged Steve’s powerful thighs and sat nicely on his miniscule waist, they were a little snug on Bucky. He grimaced in the mirror. When HYDRA had starved him to be a lean, caged beast, he’d dropped down to about 180. Post-HYDRA, before cryo, he’d been the heaviest he’d ever been, about 210. Maybe now, he was up a little more.

“Hm, what do you think?” he asked, turning and eyeing himself in the mirror. In the reflection, he saw Steve look up, and then his jaw dropped.

“Uh… um, good. They l-look good. Real good, uh, your butt looks nice in them.”

Bucky posed, and yeah, his butt did look good in them, even if they were a little tight. “Thanks, pal.” He wrapped a monogrammed towel around his shoulders, and they were off to the pool.

Steve dove into the deep end, practising his backstroke, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice that Kristina was sitting on a silver-haired man’s lap. He beckoned for Steve to come to the side of the pool. “Hey, Steve, that guy over there. Dominic’s husband was named… uh… Silvan… Silvio! Could be a coincidence?”

Steve shook his head. “Not at this resort. Good job Buck—ah, Jack. We’re getting closer. Later, if you can, ask the girl about him.”

Bucky nodded. He didn’t think that would be too hard at all.

 

Later, while Bucky was tonguing Kristina’s clit, she told him that Silvio was Silvio Manfredi, one of the largest crime bosses, and Dominic was Dominic Tyrone, his new husband. They were both confirmed members of Maggia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long! And fear not about Bucky's apparent disinterest in Steve. He's in denial.


	3. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky work out some miscommunications.

It had only been three days, but Steve could swear Bucky was gaining weight. “Jack” was relishing in all the resort had to offer—which meant the full-time service of some gawking attendant fetching him _more_ food. He was insatiable, and it was kind of fascinating to watch.

And Steve wasn’t an idiot. He knew Bucky was fucking Kristina, and those “late night walks” weren’t fooling anyone. It wasn’t like he minded. They weren’t really married, after all.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself. He wished he didn’t mind. He wished it didn’t kill him every time Bucky gave the slightest hint of them not being married. He wished he could give in completely to his character of Phil, but he’d never really been that good of an actor. He didn’t have the heart for show business. Steve tended to only like straightforward things. Unfortunately, as he was learning, relationships could be the least straightforward thing.

But what information he lacked in communicating without saying what you meant, he managed to find out about Maggia. He dedicated most of his time to work, which he figured just gave Bucky more motivation to complain to Dominic or Kristina, and the closer they got, the more information they would have.

Steve hated this part of jobs, the in-between stuff. He liked the beginning, the profiling, and he liked the ending of course, where all the action happened. But he felt kind of useless in the meantime. Bucky was getting all the information in his various ways, and Steve was only really completing some unhappily newlywed rich couple charade.

Which lead him down the side of the cliff to the beach. It seemed like no one actually went in the water here. Everyone loved going in the pristine pool, and even swimming in the fountain (a few patrons had gotten quite drunk last night), but he hadn’t seen a single person head down to the beach. Which was just as well. Some alone time could help him clear his head.

But, he was doing less head-clearing and more Bucky-visualising. He couldn’t be gaining weight, Steve knew that. Not in such a short time. But his tummy might have actually been a little distended from all the goddamn _food._ A croissant or a scone (both, even, this morning) with his morning coffee, a considerable 3-egg omelette and pancakes for breakfast, two BLTs for lunch,  a gigantic (and impossibly thick) chocolate milkshake for a snack, and a trough full of spaghetti (spilling over with sauce, and topped with 4 fist-sized meatballs) for dinner. He’d spooned him the first night and last; he knew how bloated he was from all the food. And they’d still had four days left to their honeymoon. He even pictured how that full gut looked without a stylish polo over it. He hadn’t seen Bucky shirtless since the first day, and he had the strangest desire to see him shirtless after gorging himself. Which, of course, led to Steve picturing Bucky and Kristina having sex, and a persistent hard-on.

Steve’s so tired of sneaking around, leaving notes for Bucky saying he “went for a walk” or saying he has to “take a shower” when it really meant sneaking off to the bathroom to jerk off. He’s so tired of hiding in implications. So he looked around him, made sure no one could see, just shoved his pants down and started beating off. It was kind of nice, taking back control of things in a strange way. He was angry, and he didn’t know why. It might just have been sexual frustration, or it might’ve been that every part of his life is orchestrated _by_ someone else or _for_ someone else, and apparently spilling into the ocean is one way to do something for himself.

Panting, he zipped himself back up and sat in the warm sand, watching the sun set. Not two minutes later, he heard footsteps and turned to see Bucky walking down the hill from the resort toward him. In a moment of panic, he wondered if he’d seen, then realised from the top of the hill, it would be impossible to see him over the cliff.

“Hey,” Bucky called when they’re close enough to hear each other, a little out of breath from the hill.

“Hey,” Steve replied casually, grateful (not for the first time) that out of the skills they’d acquired from the supersoldier serum, mind reading was not one of them. _I did not just jerk off to you and Kristina having sex. I did not just jerk off to you and Kristina having sex._

“I, uh, I was talking with Kristina some more. I think I might have followed Dominic and Silvio back to their boss, but I don’t know. She has to be real quiet about it. I don’t know how she knows this stuff.”

Steve nodded, picking up a shell beside him and chucking it into the sea.

“Is anything wrong?”

 _Yes. No. I really, really want to kiss you. What?_ Steve’s head was louder than he could make sense of. “I dunno.” He threw another shell.

“Okay.” Bucky hooked an arm underneath Steve’s, and helped him up, even if he didn’t really need it. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“One night off. No,” he said quickly to quiet Steve’s rapid-fire protests. “We’ve both worked our assess off and there’s nothing we can’t accomplish if we’re not convincing. Especially, you, Stevie.” The endearment was soft spoken and made Steve’s face heat up. It was nice to hear again after three days of ‘Phil’. “You’ve worked hard. We’re going to go up there, and party, and you are going to forget whatever it is that’s bothering you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

 

\--

They’d kissed before, in front of other people. In the taxi, and then two other times. But they were just brief pecks, for the sake of realism.

Now, Steve was three martinis in, and nowhere near to catching up to Bucky, and they’re sloppily making out on barstools during a dance party (if a party can involve less than ten people, most of them being staff). Steve’s telling himself that this is all for show, trying to let himself down easy, but nothing about the passion in Bucky’s tongue felt fake.

They couldn’t get drunk, so their inhibitions weren’t down. _How much is Jack, and how much of is Bucky?_ Steve’d been asking himself that question for the last ten minutes. He didn’t know. He didn’t know where the character began and the actor ended.

“Let’s do body shots!!” One patron who is _way_ too drunk suggested.

Bucky shot Steve a wicked smile, and Steve had a feeling he might get an up-close and personal view of that gut he was fantasizing about so much earlier.

But Bucky had a different idea. He got three shots of whiskey from the bar, helped Steve lie down, and Steve peeled off his shirt. A few of the other party goers cheered at his chiselled abs, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than Bucky’s tongue laving at his naval, suctioning the alcohol out of it, the most tickling, erotic feeling he’d ever known.

Then it’s over all too soon, and the snack tray passed by again. Bucky grabbed a few cheese things for himself, and handed one to Steve. “Try it!” he shouted.

Steve shrugged, and popped it in his mouth. It was one of the best things he’d ever tasted. Might have been the crazy mood of the night, or he might have been _going_ crazy. Either way. He grabbed another one, and it’s delicious. He didn’t know what came over him. He knew one night of overindulgence wouldn’t hurt anything, but it wasn’t like him. The night became a blur of shots, cheesy things, and Bucky’s tongue.

When the party had just crossed the level between resort-fun and trashy, Steve and Bucky retreated back to their rooms. They were still holding hands (and Steve didn’t even know whose benefit it was for at this point) in the elevator, and Bucky was fake-drunk giggling and going on about how cute Steve’s hair was when it was messed up. It was everything Steve had ever dreamed, but it seemed like a cruel joke to have Bucky saying it all as carelessly as he fucked Kristina.

As soon as they reached their floor, Steve shoved Bucky up against a wall and kissed him deeply, searching his mouth like he could find the answers to all the questions he had in there. He pulled back, searched Bucky’s stormy grey eyes, and kissed him again. A soft, genuine kiss, with no one watching, one he hoped could tell Bucky everything he was feeling without saying a word. He really wasn’t that good at this insinuation stuff.

After he was done, he pulled away, not meeting Bucky’s eyes, opened the door to their room, and went to bed. Everything felt suddenly pointless, and that was a dangerous emotion to entertain when they still had a mission to complete. He was screaming insults at himself in his head. _You’ve really done it now. You’ve gone seventy years never letting on that you’re in love with Bucky, but one undercover mission, and you blow it. Real subtle, Rogers._

He found himself envying, inexplicably, Phil. And Kristina. And everyone else Bucky, or Jack, or both, had ever kissed.

Steve didn’t expect Bucky to get into bed with him right away. He thought he might run away to Kristina and _vent—_ “Help, my undercover best friend just kissed me” (yes, of course he’d seen the letter Bucky’d poorly discarded), but Bucky got into bed with him.

“Phil.”

Steve didn’t respond. He didn’t want to, if Bucky wouldn’t call his name. He knew he was being ridiculous.

“ _Phil._ Come on man, we need to talk.”

Steve stared at the wall.

“ _Steve_.”

Steve turned around, unfairly directing all his anger at Bucky. “Shut up! You don’t know who could be listening.” He still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Bucky grabbed his shoulders and forced Steve to look in him in the eyes. “Listen to me. Finishing this mission is not worth jeopardising you. Something’s going on, and you won’t tell me about it, and that’s fine. We’ll just contact the Avengers and tell them I wasn’t ready yet. They’ll understand, Stevie, please. Let’s go home. Someone else can defeat Maggia.”

 _He cares,_ the cruel part of Steve’s mind relented. _Of course he does. He’s Bucky._ Steve was ashamed for every lashing out at him, and all his anger melted away as he stared into Bucky’s honest eyes. “Bucky, I just…” he trailed off. Should he take this leap?

“You can tell me anything, Stevie.” Those eyes had him believing in God.

“I didn’t know how much of you kissing me tonight was Jack kissing Phil, or… or you.” He looked away, and Bucky’s hand brought his chin gently back up, back to those eyes.

“How much of me do you want it to be?” Bucky asked softly.

“All of it,” Steve whispered.

“Good.” Bucky kissed the bridge of Steve’s nose, and that one touch was worth more than a thousand fake-French kisses. “Because it was.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and kissed him again, heard the clink as their teeth bumped together.

Then Bucky’s phone buzzed on the side table.

They paid no attention to it, and Steve traced the line between Bucky’s arm and where they’d put the flesh-coloured latex over his metal arm for disguise.

The phone buzzed again, urgently. Then the ringtone Bucky had set for Avengers Tower rang. “Fuck, I gotta.” Bucky reached a hand over Steve, swiped at the screen, and his eyes went wide.

“What is it?” Steve asked, almost not wanting to know, wanting Bucky to put the phone down and just go back to kissing him.

“New information on the mission,” Bucky whispered. “They’ve identified another member of Maggia.”

“Who?”

Bucky turned the phone so that Steve could see the screen, and on it was Kristina. Except, she was wearing a white-and-black bodysuit, and pointing two guns at the camera. Below the picture, there was a small caption that read “Giuletta Nefaria. Daughter of Luchino Nefaria, also known as Count Nefaria, leader of the crime organisation Maggia. Giuletta Nefaria may also be known under the alias Kristina Longfellow. Supervillain name: Madame Masque.”

“Shit,” Steve swore. “You’ve been fucking Madame Masque.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking maybe one more chapter on this. Thanks for all your support and don't forget to find me on tumblr @star-thief!


	4. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky take care of Maggia and take the next step in their relationship.

Bucky didn’t even ask how Steve knew. He thought he was so clever, running around and having his little rendezvous. He was sporting a half mast and his lips still tingled where Steve had touched him, and he was reminded that this was how being a hero was. One moment, you’re where you want to be, but then you have to scratch all that for the mission. The mission. Nothing seemed real. Not HYDRA, not Maggia. He just wanted to fall back into Steve’s kiss. A crazy thought entered his mind—what if he let someone else take care of it, just this once? Hadn’t they done enough? They’d fought for so many years. Steve was Captain Fucking America, and he didn’t owe America a thing more.

Why couldn’t they? Why couldn’t he be selfish and got what he wanted?

Didn’t he deserve it?

“Steve…” his eyes flicked back and forth between the blond’s alarmingly blue ones.

Steve misinterpreted this, looking away, and mumbling some pathetic thing Bucky only half listened to. “No, it’s alright… I get it. We’re not married. I don’t say who you get to sleep with. I don’t really care.”

_Liar._

Bucky grabbed Steve’s face and forced him to look at him. “Shut up. She’s a poor substitute for you, anyway.”

Steve swallowed, then nodded. “Okay.” He nodded again, standing, looking for his costume. “We do this now, then.”

Bucky made no motion to leave the bed. “Steve… aren’t you tired of this?” Steve didn’t hear him the first time, so focused on the mission. Was this that easy for him? To compartmentalise his life so quickly? Because it sure as hell wasn’t for Bucky. He couldn’t go from kissing Steve one minute to storming down Maggia’s doors the next. He repeated himself.

“Hm? Tired of what?” Steve had located his stealth suit, folded neatly in a duffel bag in the closet.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough sometimes? Do you ever want to just stand back and let someone else handle it?”

Uncertainty flickered across Steve’s eyes for a moment. “I guess. But it’s my duty, right?”

Bucky stood, going over to him, and taking both hands in his. He brushed his thumb across the knuckles of the hand that held the suit. “You’ve done it for 70 years, Stevie. No one would blame you if we stopped now.”

Steve’s expression was blank for a moment, and Bucky was worried that he’d think he was selfish and hate him, or insist they did it anyway.

“Alright.”

 

Steve typed the report for the Avengers himself. It went straight to Vision, who received the information, and sent it forward to Tony. Less than a minute after Steve sent it, a voice call came up.

“Rogers, Barnes, what’s going on here? You’ve got a clear connection to Maggia. What are you doing?” Stark’s voice came over the call, but it was obstructed by some piece of machinery he was working on in his basement.

“Uh…” Bucky looked over to Steve, who nodded. “We kind of… thought you might pass it on to someone else. Let Scarlet Witch and Spiderman handle it, maybe. We’re… stepping out on this one. Give the New Avengers some experience, you know?”

There was silence on the other line as Tony rolled out from under the engine on his dolly. He squinted his eyes at the camera for a minute, then a grin lit his face. “Goddammit, Steve, you finally told him, didn’t you?”

Bucky’s head snapped over to Steve’s face, to find him as red as his shield. “He told you?” he asked Tony, without looking at the camera.

“Nah,” he replied, returning to his engine. “I have a good eye for these things. He’s been eye-fucking you for years. Anyway--“ he was interrupted by a scandalous gasp from Bruce somewhere inside Tony’s garage—“ _Anyway,_ I’ll send Petey right in. Have a nice honeymoon, boys.”

Tony sent for a car to take them to Vegas (“You’ll love it. No wedding required, but it’s an awesome place to escape from the world in”), and as soon as it arrived, Jack Evans and Philip Morgan checked out of the Stark Hotel in California.

As the car exited the mile-long driveway from the resort, an explosion signalled that Peter and Wanda had started. Bucky and Steve didn’t even turn out the back window to look.

 

\--

CHRISTMAS EVE, LAS VEGAS

It had been just over three weeks since their official retirement. Bucky expected to hate Las Vegas—so many lights and people didn’t seem that appealing, and didn’t people just go there to gamble? But it actually turned out that Tony was right. It was the perfect place to escape to. The Stark Hotel in Las Vegas proved to be MUCH less murderous than its Californian twin, and it contained no staff that were secretly Maggia agents. It could have contained the Red Skull himself as their bellboy, and Bucky wouldn’t have cared. Not a single other person in the entire city—the entire _world—_ mattered to him. He had Steve, and Steve had him.

Especially now that there was considerably _more_ of him to have.

Now that they were on holiday with no mission to distract them, Bucky had completely given himself in to the luxury surrounding him. At first, they didn’t know how long they were going to stay. They were both feeling this strange new thing out, together… without knowing how long it was going to last or exactly what they were doing. Steve took advantage of the gym and pool; Bucky took advantage of the amazing cuisine. The first week had been kind of strange, with each of them in their own separate worlds.

Bucky hadn’t even known if Steve would want to sleep in the same bed the first night. Their room (more of an entire floor) contained four bedrooms, so they could have spread themselves out completely, but after enjoying the Jacuzzi, Steve wordlessly followed Bucky into the room he’d chosen. Bucky got comfortable, and turned out the light, waiting for Steve to make a move, but the room was entirely silent, save the sound of Bucky’s heartbeat.

So he’d flipped over (the pressure of his uncomfortably full stomach pressing into Steve’s abs in startlingly hot contrast after the three-course dinner he’d had) onto Steve, and started kissing him. It went from there. Steve seemed to prefer things when Bucky took control, so he topped, using the condoms that the hotel had thoughtfully provided on the nightstand. Bucky had almost been worried that they were moving too fast, they he should hold back or he might spoil it, but there was something about Las Vegas that urged him to give in to every one of his desires, which happened to run parallel. Steve was still his best friend, but he was now his lover. When the two of them weren’t having sex (oral, anal, on every available surface and in every imaginable position), Bucky was eating. It wasn’t like he chose to gorge himself on everything he saw—he often seemed to _find_ himself always eating. And it was mostly Steve’s fault. Not like he would blame the sweetheart, but he wanted to take care of him, and his idea of ‘taking care’ seemed to be offering him food all the fucking time. And even though Bucky was nearly always full, everything was so _good_ , and it wasn’t like he was about to say no to Steve’s puppy dog eyes and “Come on, Buck, I know you can have one more cannoli. You’ve got plenty of room.”

The second week, Bucky nearly felt self-conscious. Although they were retired from hero-dom with no visible future plans, Steve continued to work out every other day, and he’d come back from the gym dripping in sweat, and Bucky would be lying on the couch, steadily working through an entire cheesecake. There was nothing Bucky found hotter than Steve panting already from a nice workout, muscles shaking, then slowly undoing him piece by piece and entwining his hands in wet, messy hair, as the blond screamed out for more. He would have felt bad about being so lazy, but Steve seemed oblivious to his weight gain.

And that was another thing. He wasn’t sure how much weight he was actually gaining with no scale in sight. His stomach certainly seemed bigger- more distended, at least- but that certainly could have been because of the sheer amount of food he was asking it to contain.

Some point toward the end of the second week, a lot of the tight, fullness of Bucky’s belly had turned into soft, heavy fat, and small love handles had formed. Bucky had been fucking Steve up against a wall, facing each other, and Steve’s hands found their way onto his muffin top, holding on through his orgasm.

Bucky didn’t want to mention it, just in case Steve really was oblivious and it might have turned him off, but it wasn’t like he particularly minded if Steve didn’t. It wasn’t like he was fat; not yet. Just a little chunky, maybe. And Steve kept on shoving food down his goddamn throat, what did he think was going to happen?

The third week, just a few days before Christmas, Steve had been getting kinky, doing some roleplay, as was their recent trend, when he suggested something Christmas themed. Nothing could have really prepared Bucky for what a strange lover Steve would be, and he _never_ would have guessed he’d hear the words “Hey, want to be Santa and I’ll be Mrs. Claus?” right before delivering a playful slap to Bucky’s full belly.

_Well. Guess that means he noticed._

“Sure…” Bucky had stuttered, a little caught off guard. He was expecting it to be more laughable than arousing, but Steve had been prepared, apparently, and disappeared from the room for a moment. When he came back in, he was wearing a Mean Girls-type Santa outfit (benefits of being a retired superhero: the joys of Netflix) with a hot little pair of hose like the kind dames used to wear ‘back in the day that nearly made Bucky come just by looking at them.

Steve had blushed when Bucky’s draw dropped, and revealed a pair of suspenders from behind his back, shyly asking if Bucky would put them on.

So yeah, Steve noticed, and he was cool with it.

After Bucky made love to Steve on the dining room table, Steve got up and went to the kitchen, coming back a moment later with the remaining pieces of the chocolate mousse cake from lunch, and asked if Bucky was hungry. His answer was yes—more to test exactly where Steve was going with this than truthful. If he was being truthful, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hungry.

So Steve fed him three whole slices of the chocolate mousse, and Bucky was cool with it. Then the blond gave him belly rubs and muttered something about how “damn sexy he looked all big and full like that”.

Which had been two days ago.

Last night, Bucky had finally, _finally_ , brought it up. “So, Steve…” he’d started from the living room. Steve was cooking dinner in the kitchen, just one split level up from him.

“Mm?” he responded while chopping onions.

Bucky felt this was a conversation better had in the same room, so he heaved himself up from the couch (and fuck, his stomach was still full from lunch, how was he supposed to have room for dinner?) and sat on the barstool near the counter. “I’ve… ah… put on some weight recently.” Was there a more elegant way of putting it?

“Mhm.”

“Do you… ah… do you mind? ‘Cause if you do, that’s alright, I could join you down in the gym more often, not eat as much…”

Steve spun around, spatula in hand, and leant over the counter to kiss Bucky. “I love it.”

A dumb smirk came across Bucky’s face, even if he sorta thought that might be the answer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve responded, pulling a pan of lasagne out of the oven. “Gimme your plate.”

 

\--

It was ten minutes before Christmas day, and Bucky’s hands were tied behind him in a comfortable way while he leant against the headboard of the bed. Steve was feeding him an entire pan of brownies, and he wasn’t allowed to be untied until he finished them. He only had four more to go, and it wasn’t too hard to manage.

Steve could never keep both hands off his belly; even while he fed him with his right, mostly-empty pan of brownies lying on the bed next to him, his right hand caressed the fattest part of Bucky’s gut beneath his navel.

“So,” Steve started, clearing his voice after it came out huskier than he intended, sounding all fucked out and making Bucky squirm. “You know I like this,” he punctuated _this_ with a gentle grab to Bucky’s lowest roll of padding “But I never really asked you if you do. Which I probably should have… I mean, I’m sort of asking more of you here, pouring food down your throat, but you didn’t really seem to mind, you know? But if you do—“

Bucky interrupted before Steve could stick his foot in it any more. “I like it plenty, sweetheart,” he said around the last bite of brownie he had in his mouth.

Steve grinned and leant down to kiss him. As he pulled away, the clock on the nightstand flashed 12:00 am. “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update! I was beginning to get a bit tired of plot, so I decided to blow it off. Also, I know I’m a little late for Christmas, but I’m missing it already, guys!! How am I supposed to make it the next nine months?


End file.
